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ROLLO

The trees whispered his name.

Not lovingly. Not like they did for Delilah.

No—this was different. Urgent. Sharp as a blade against bark.

Rollo moved like the earth itself pushed him forward, steps landing heavy along the old hunter’s path near the western ridge. His ribs still ached where Garrick’s claws had landed weeks ago, but it wasn’t pain that fueled his stride—it was rage.

Delilah had collapsed this morning. One minute she was laughing with Junie at the market, the next her knees buckled like a string had been cut.

And he’d known.

Deep in his marrow, in the bond they’d forged—he’dfelther pain roll through him like a tide.

It was Garrick. It had always been Garrick.

The bastard wasn’t just poisoning the land anymore—he was draining it. And because Delilah had tethered her spirit to it to savehim, she was now the one bleeding for it.

He crested the ridge.

The old clan site lay ahead—burnt stones, remnants of sacred bonfires, and the jagged arch of a fallen moonwood tree now split in half. The place where they’d once sparred, once shared rites of passage, now stood hollow. Dead.

And waiting.

Garrick stepped out from behind the tree like he’d been carved from its bark—shadow-thin and sharp-eyed. His magic hummed dark and coiled at his feet, rippling through the undergrowth like oil in water.

“Took you long enough,” he sneered. “Was starting to think you’d gone soft for good.”

Rollo didn’t stop walking until they were a breath apart. “You hurt her.”

Garrick tilted his head. “She chose that.”

“She choseme,” Rollo growled, “and to save me, she tied herself to the forest you’re poisoning. You might as well have stuck your claws in her spine yourself.”

For a split second, something flickered in Garrick’s eyes. Something bitter. “I didn’twanther harmed,” he said. “Not really.”

“You didn’tcareif she was. That’s worse.”

“She was never yours,” Garrick snapped, voice laced with venom. “You were too slow. Too afraid. You let fate slip right through your fingers and expected it’d just wait around for you.”

Rollo’s fist clenched.

“And now?” Garrick’s smile twisted. “You think tying her down, marking her,claimingher makes it real? It just makes her your weakness.”

The words hit harder than claws. But Rollo didn’t flinch.

“She’s not my weakness,” he said, voice low. “She’s the reason I haven’t given up.” Then he struck.

The fight exploded like a thunderclap.

Rollo’s fist slammed into Garrick’s jaw, sending him stumbling back into the brush. Garrick snarled, shifting halfway into his bear form—jagged claws, shadowed fur, eyes lit with corrupted magic. He launched back, claws raking across Rollo’s side, but Rollo twisted, landing a knee in Garrick’s gut and slamming him down onto the roots below.

The ground shuddered. Magic flared—black for Garrick, deep amber for Rollo.

They circled each other, breath heaving, limbs scraped and bloodied.